Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 1 Prosecutor
1994, Guatemala, San Marcos Province, La Mecia border checkpoint.

Most people have never heard of this country, and no one cares about their civil war, so even if hundreds of people die here one day, no one will care.

Of course, there are exceptions to everything.

Across the border lies a place where thousands of people could die and no one would care.

And everyone has heard of this country.

Mexico.

They were also called "Yankees" by the officers at the checkpoint.

Despite the imposing name of the "border checkpoint," in this war-torn country, it receives little support from the central government and is constantly threatened by rebel forces.

The drug lords in Mexico to the north, whose weaponry rivals that of a regular army, are a force that a small checkpoint cannot afford to provoke.

Every now and then, various armed gangs would come to "take advantage" of them.

In order to survive, this small checkpoint, where even employees have to pay their own wages, is naturally highly corrupt.

At this moment, at checkpoint number two.

A muscular, tall man with the rank of second lieutenant on his shoulder looked serious but was actually just going through the motions as he inspected the pickup truck in front of him.

To be honest, Milton Mings is still a bit confused.

Time travel is one thing, but why is the timeline set in 1994?
The timing was bad enough, but why did I end up in a foreign country?

Wearing clothes from abroad is one thing, but not American clothes, but Guatemala clothes that I've never even heard of, and the border with Mexico is just a few steps away, who can stand that?

The only saving grace was that he could see the information about these vehicles and the list of prohibited items, which allowed him to make a living and even save some money, even without much professional skill.

Ford F-150 Pickup Truck

[The vehicle was detected carrying a Class III prohibited item (green): a minced meat sandwich]

[The vehicle was detected carrying a Class II prohibited item (yellow): tobacco products]

No Class A prohibited item was detected in the vehicle (red)

As long as you enforce the law impartially, collect taxes, and confiscate contraband, you can earn points that can be exchanged for a series of rewards.

In this godforsaken place where guns are drawn at the slightest provocation, the danger of upholding the law and acting as a champion of justice is unimaginable; one could simply vanish into thin air at any moment.

Fortunately, this panel doesn't have any mandatory tasks, so Milton can set his "fairness" bottom line with some flexibility.

Sigh, upholding the law impartially... this garbage system is preventing me from making progress!

Milton muttered a complaint, knocked on the car window, and shouted to the driver inside, "Finish your sandwiches before you leave, and don't bring them in. And your cigarette smell is so strong it can be smelled throughout the entire checkpoint. Hand it all over, don't try anything funny."

As he spoke, Milton touched the SW Model 29 Magnum revolver (Smith & Wesson M29) tucked into his waistband.

The driver in the pickup truck clearly looked pained; he couldn't understand how he could be caught smuggling just two packs of cigarettes: "Sir, this..."

Milton, holding the gun barrel, tapped the door with the butt and interrupted, "Either I stamp the entry refusal form and let your fruit rot in the car; or you hand over the contraband and all the customs duties, and I won't repeat myself."

"Yes, sir... sigh."

After saying that, the driver dejectedly opened the glove compartment and handed over two packs of cigarettes along with several 50-gram chechar notes.

Milton took the cigarette pack and cash, and without giving these struggling small business owners any trouble, readily stamped their documents and let them pass: "Alright, take your documents. Also, nice car."

The 50 qchar was the checkpoint's tax, and the two packs of cigarettes confiscated as contraband were naturally the inspector's "legitimate income."

Milton was a little unaccustomed to doing this kind of thing at first, but now he's quite adept at it.

Just as the car was allowed to pass, a Latino man wearing a cowboy hat, with a distinctly old American Western look, shouted something in their direction.

"Hey! Milton. The stationmaster wants you over there! Someone else has taken over here."

Then he saw the cigarette pack in Milton's hand, and the sound caught in his throat.

"Cohiba cornets?! Holy crap, high-end stuff from Cuba! How do you always manage to find these good things? I bet this box of mini cigars could fetch at least $10 on the black market."

In such a place, in 1994, $10 was indeed a considerable sum of money.

Cigars? I thought they were cigarettes... Milton, who knew nothing about tobacco, simply opened a box and followed his colleague, Horn, toward the stationmaster's office, handing him a cigarette as he went.

It's worthwhile to use this little thing to build good relationships with colleagues, even if it's just superficial.

"Corporal Horn, do you have some news to tell me?"

Sure enough, Horn took the cigar, looked around, hesitated for a moment, and then lowered his voice: "Milton...hey, let me tell you, you impounded Van Conn's car before, and they bribed Inspector Maynard. They won't let this go easily. I've been hearing lately that someone wants you to pay the price."

Maynard... Van Conn... Sigh, it's that again.

Two weeks ago, Milton had just crossed the border a couple of days earlier. As usual, he was checking vehicles crossing the border when he saw a car covered in red and yellow violation warnings. He almost laughed out of anger.

At that time, a colleague who looked very kind came over and jokingly said that the car and the driver didn't seem to have any major problems.

That colleague was Inspector Maynard... Unfortunately, Milton had just transmigrated and didn't understand the meaning behind the words. He was also extremely short of money, so in front of everyone, he searched the car and found all the contraband without missing a single item.

Later... Milton learned that the driver had drunk too much that day and hadn't driven to the pre-arranged checkpoint that had already been bribed.

When veteran Maynard came to smooth things over, he was publicly humiliated by his new colleague, who showed him no respect whatsoever.

That vehicle was carrying goods belonging to the local armed gang, Fan Kang Gang.

This is a gang that rose to prominence amidst the chaos of the Zapatista uprising in Mexico.

The money Milton made from the seizures came from the pockets of Prosecutor Maynard's team and Van Conn's gang! They've always been known for their vengeful nature.

Fan Kang's gang of thugs once shot and killed a member of parliament who had criticized them in the street, causing a tragedy that resulted in dozens of casualties; Maynard even made a colleague who had offended him disappear without a trace!

A female prosecutor once inspected Fan Kangbang's goods. The next day, when she got off work, she was raped and fed to dogs. Her mutilated body was dismembered and hung on a traffic light, while her head was mailed to her husband and children.

Without a doubt, their statement was a blatant death knell!
Fortunately, the checkpoint chief was somewhat authoritative, and Milton had been hiding in the checkpoint and hadn't gone out for some time, so he hadn't been retaliated against yet.

But the threat was imminent... Milton had to think of a solution.

……

As the two approached the stationmaster's office, they saw a white man with a round, kind face and a healthy red glow on his neck push the door open and come out.

He wore the rank of sergeant on his shoulder.

Maynard.

Enemy road is narrow!

Maynard's gaze faltered for a moment, then he broke into a wide smile, glancing at Milton's cigarette case: "Sir, looks like another clueless kid is trying to fool you?"

This is much harder to deal with than an enemy who comes out making threats...

Military rank... This second lieutenant rank was obviously bought by the previous generation for the position of inspector. It has no real value and how could it possibly earn the respect of people in this remote place?

"The stationmaster needs to speak with you, so I won't bother you any longer. Commander Milton, please take good care of your health! Hehe..."

After saying that, he waved kindly, turned around and got into his car—in Milton's eyes, the car's color was almost entirely covered by red warning lights!
It turned out that a small number of cars were found among a pile of Class A contraband.

If it weren't for this system, Milton would have really thought this guy was sending him a signal of peaceful coexistence.

Such an enemy is too dangerous... We must find a way to strike first and catch him off guard, we can't wait for him to secretly formulate his plan!
And the sooner the better!
Otherwise, it's a slow death.

"Don't let him fool you, I've been burned before." Horn took a drag of his cigarette and whispered, "This guy isn't as generous as he seems."

“Of course I know.” Milton turned his gaze away. “You should also take care of yourself.”

Horn took another puff of his cigarette, glanced at the silver pocket watch he'd confiscated from a smuggler, and said, "I'm going back to patrol. I won't let your cigarette go to waste; I'll treat you to your favorite Chinese food tonight!"

After saying that, he jogged towards the outpost to continue his patrol.

Fuck you, there's only American Chinese food in town, and even dogs wouldn't eat that stuff unless it's buy-one-get-one-free!

Milton mentally scoffed and reached out to knock on the wooden door of the stationmaster's office.

"Come in."

Milton dusted himself off, walked into the office, and gave a brief salute: "Good afternoon, Commander Varta!"

Captain Varta, the station chief of this checkpoint, is a middle-aged man of average height and build, who speaks with a strong voice, enjoys giving speeches, and often displays a sense of justice in handling various incidents.

Milton also took the time to look at Varta's car, which was spotless and had no contraband, making it incomparable to Maynard's red and yellow car.

To be honest, Milton planned to slowly and subtly confront Varta about Maynard's mess over the time being.

During this period, Milton has demonstrated his exceptional talent in apprehending smugglers and seizing contraband, showcasing his value.

Even the strongest sense of justice needs to be driven by self-interest; Milton wasn't naive enough to think he could get rid of Maynard just by relying on the stationmaster's conscience.

"You've been doing a great job lately." Station Master Varta smiled as he looked at the tobacco in Milton's hand, gesturing for him to sit down, his tone amiable. "The corners where smugglers hide their goods are places that even inspectors with over a decade of experience can't find, but you found them in no time!"

“It’s my duty, sir.” Milton said, taking the tax money out of his pocket and handing it to Varta. “This is the tax money collected today. Please check it.”

Varta casually accepted the money, stuffed the tax payment into the drawer, and waved his hand: "I heard you had a little conflict with your colleagues? Do you need me to change your job? The salary will remain the same, it won't waste your talent, and it'll be easier for you."

A shift change? A transfer away from the enemy?

Is someone handing me a pillow when I'm feeling sleepy?
Being out of the enemy's sight was indeed a good way to buy time, and Milton had no reason to disagree.

Just as Milton was about to agree, the door to the stationmaster's office was suddenly pushed open.

A stranger, whom no one had seen before at the checkpoint, walked in without knocking. He glanced casually at Milton and then saluted Varta.

"Sir, your scheduled meeting is about to begin. The driver has brought your car. Would you like to leave now?"

Varta smiled kindly and said, "Don't rush, just wait for me outside. I need to talk to the young man about something... You know, the young man is our future, and his affairs are more important than anything else."

"Yes, sir!"

After saying that, the man turned and left the office, brushing past Milton's shoulder as he walked out of the stationmaster's office.

Milton, with a sense of morbid curiosity, glanced at the man and watched him get into the imposing Hummer.

Immediately afterwards, his gaze froze.

The Hummer he got into was... completely packed with red, Class A contraband!
Among the red contraband items, he also saw a very familiar word.

[Category 1 Contraband: Van Companion-La Mecia Checkpoint Mutual Assistance Agreement (Illegal Document)]

Fan Kangbang!
That Fan Kang gang that threatened to kill him!
A secret agreement between the checkpoint and not someone at the checkpoint!
Here, there is only one person who can represent the checkpoint...

Looking at Varta's kind smile, Milton felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave!

Damn it...

So, I've come to the Valley of Villains, huh? Everyone here is a villain?!
P.S.: The exchange rate of this country's currency is roughly equal to that of RMB, and the difference is not particularly large.

(End of this chapter)